Prove It: Contemplating the Innocence of Neal
by costley51
Summary: Diana, Jones, and Peter debate whether they think Neal is innocent of stealing the U-boat art.  Set right after Under the Radar.  Spoilers.
1. Difficult Contemplations

_Set right after Under the Radar. Peter, Diana, and Jones contemplate the evidence and their own feelings about the guilt or innocence of Neal. Some errors fixed. _

Peter was steaming as he walked back to the car. _How dare Neal do this, this far into the deal? Right when it seemed they were really working together. _

_

* * *

_

Diana and Jones were already standing by the car. They had seen Neal storm away and seen the signs of anger spring to Peter's face. They had also seen the painted shard of the Chrysler building floating to the ground, but they didn't understand it. One minute, Peter had been saving Neal from yet another gun, and the next, the floodgates of mistrust were wide open.

"What happened out there, Boss?" Diana head indicating not the blazing inferno but the spot just vacated by Burke and Caffrey.

"Neal happened," Peter replied savagely, holding out the piece of the painting.

Jones raised his eyebrow in query.

"This is one of Neal's paintings; I saw it last time I was at his apartment," Peter growled.

"So, you think Neal had something to do with this." Jones filled in.

"Neal wouldn't destroy that art, not to get revenge on Adler, not for anything." Diana stepped in.

"No, but he would switch it out. It would probably be the biggest score of the century. That stuff was worth over a billion," replied Peter.

"And it fits Caffrey's _M.O*."_ Diana thought out loud. "A huge cash-out, priceless art, no guns, no innocent victims. I mean no one is losing their life-savings or having their children taken from them. In fact, it will be practically impossible to trace as we don't know what most of the pieces even are. "

"And it serves to payback Adler in the process," Jones added. "But still, do you really think he did it? I mean, you saw how he was with Ford and the printing plate. He could have pulled the con off with him, and we might never have known. Instead he came to us and stopped the whole operation."

"Eh, but those men were rough, willing to kill to get the paper they wanted. Caffrey wouldn't have wanted in on something like that."

"Well, hold up." Diana interrupted. "This shouldn't be difficult. If Caffrey was anywhere near the docks last night, his tracking anklet will show it."

Peter let out a sigh. "No, I didn't put the anklet back on until this morning. It wasn't like I expected him to run when we were right on Adler's trail, and I really didn't want to have to deal with the Marshall's last night."

Diana's shoulders dropped, and Jones let his gaze fall to the asphalt.

After a second, Diana took a breath and started again. "OK, let's go about this in order. Technically, the lack of tracker data doesn't prove anything one way or the other. So what do we have regarding means, motive, and opportunity."

"Well, our suspect list isn't exactly long," Jones picked up. "The only cons who knew about the u-boat were Neal, Alex, Mozzie, and Adler. This event hasn't exactly been public, and I don't imagine that Adler was out sharing his find at the local dive bar. The man knows how to keep a secret."

"We can't exactly rule out an outsider, but yeah, I think that's our list for now," said Peter, starting to look more analytical.

"And I can't really picture Mozzie trying to pull this off without Neal, or at least Alex. So that brings our list down to three," added Diana holding up three fingers on her right hand. "We know they are all skilled enough, and without knowing more about how it was done, there probably isn't much we can do beyond pure speculation in the _means_ department. So what about motives?"

"Well, I think we've established pretty well that Adler wants that treasure. He's been willing to kill Kate and Mozzie and kidnap an FBI agent." Jones started.

"Alex has been pretty dead set on the treasure too," Diana replied. "Think about it. She's spent her whole life contemplating her grandfather's story, and she certainly wouldn't have any qualms about stealing from under the nose of the FBI."

"It's not like Neal has exactly exonerated himself in that area," Peter countered. "He stuck around prison more than 3.5 years to get us off his back, but as soon as something more important came up, he was out. So he stuck around with us, but as soon as he sees the big heist, the chance of a lifetime, he's out. It isn't like he hasn't conned us before. That trick with the fake case file was only a few months ago."

"I don't know that that's fair. Neal hasn't just been opportunistic while working for us. He handed over that ring for your freedom without a backwards glance.

Peter exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. He certainly couldn't deny that.

Diana was the next to chime in. "You've got a point, but I don't know that it completely vindicates Neal. If he thought he could pull this off without anyone getting hurt, without us even knowing, I still think he might have done it."

"No one hurt, yeah, I'm sure that explains exactly how we all feel right now," Peter growled.

Again Jones and Diana had no real answer for that. Jones decided to move on, "So, what about the explosion?" All three of them turned to look at the flames still streaming from the warehouse. The fire crew had just started getting the blaze under control.

"Neal's way of destroying the evidence and destroying Adler at the same time?" shrugged Diana. "I mean, if it hadn't been for the wind carrying away a few pieces," she held up what was visible of the painted Chrysler Clock, "I bet the only remains we would have found would have been so charred that they were unrecognizable. Even a well trained arson team would probably only be able to tell us that they could identify some metal lumps and what used to be canvas."

"That would explain why Caffrey's painting was swapped in. They needed something to burn that would be identified as artist canvas."

"That point had been bothering me. I mean, why would Neal have left his paintings at the scene. I doubt this is a situation where he would have wanted to leave behind telling evidence," Jones considered.

"Maybe he needed something to trick Adler's moving goons, or maybe he was just trying to shove it in Adler's face," Peter replied.

Diana reflected on this, "No, he knew we were going after Adler; he wouldn't have taken that chance."

"But that doesn't rule out the ashes idea," Peter said, running his fingers through his hair tiredly.

"Just because they need the ashes, doesn't mean it has to be Neal. Alex probably could have gotten ahold of Neal's paintings. Or it could all be an attempt to frame Neal," countered Jones.

"Don't Jones. We can't pardon Neal just because we don't want it to be him," Peter muttered.

"No. I'm not just saying this because I'd like Neal not to be the culprit, but we've seen him framed before. It is a fair consideration." Jones said evenly.

Diana brought them back, "So, we never answered the questions about the explosion. Was it meant to kill Adler? Was it meant to kill the FBI? Was it meant to destroy the art? The replacements? Or was it purely an accident?"

"If Neal was hoping that Adler would get himself blown-up, I doubt that he would have walked over to the warehouse when he did," spoke Jones.

"True. Though I wonder that Neal just happened to walk over to the correct warehouse when the rest of the FBI was spread out at different sites," Peter questioned.

"Adler wouldn't have been hanging around if he meant for us to get blown up," Diana continued. "I say that it has to either be an accident or a rig to destroy evidence of the theft."

"Alright, so we've covered motive, and means. What about opportunity?" Jones said changing the subject. The flames on the building were no longer visible, though a dark trail of smoke stained the morning sky. "Wasn't Caffrey over at your place for dinner last night?" He looked at Peter as he spoke.

"Yes, yes he was." He thought back to that night and remembered El's words, _Neal is a lot of things, but when it counts, you can trust him_. She had been referring to the budding romance between Sarah and Neal, but did they apply here? "But he left around 9:00. It certainly cuts back on the time, but it doesn't completely erase the window of opportunity.

The three were left at a standstill. Peter wasn't as sure that the infamous Neal Caffrey was back in the game as he had been when he accused Neal, but he certainly wasn't assured of his innocence either. Jones desperately wanted Neal to be innocent, but he knew what the con in conman meant. It meant that Neal knew how to gain your confidence and then use it to his advantage. And Diana, she wasn't exactly sure what to think. She hadn't accepted Neal as quickly as Jones, but she knew that he would never purposely hurt anyone.

They stood watching the sky, wondering how their trust in Neal had turned to smoke as quickly as the paintings in the warehouse.

* * *

_This is my first fanfiction! I'm not afraid of criticism, so please review. Did I miss any major points? Did it get kind of dry? Focus too much on dialogue? I wasn't aiming to have a plot, but still, did it keep your interest? Also, do you think Neal had his anklet on that night or not? _

_M.O. = Modus operandi. A person's traditional pattern or way of working._

_P.S. And how do you make lines?_


	2. Uncertainty

_Last time, Peter, Jones, and Diana discussed Neal's innocence regarding the U-boat art. _

* * *

Neal was in heaven, or at least how he would have designed heaven. Gems of the art world were on every side. Carefully setting aside one masterpiece after another, he marveled at the pieces. A blue, yellow, and grey Vermeer here and an early work of Dali's over there, the surreal melting sky no more surreal than Neal's feelings at the moment. An intricate marble lion sat curled up next to a painted field of sheep, so lifelike you expected to hear a distant baa.

_This had to be the work of Alex, and probably Mozzie. Mozzie wouldn't have worked the heist alone, but the note indicating the location of the storage unit hadn't been written on one of Alex's signature origami flowers. Mozzie chose a new writing style every month or so to keep anyone who might be on his trail from connecting different pieces of his life, a typed card wouldn't be out of the question. Who else would hand him the keys to this heaven? He had a few other friends in the criminal underworld whom he generally trusted, but no one else who would bring him in on something like this. _

Neal glanced at his phone. _Shoot, it had already been seven minutes_. While he would have loved to stay and bask, to sift through the boxes, he couldn't stay long. Peter was sure to be checking Neal's anklet, and he couldn't draw attention to the place by hanging around. On his way to the storage box he had made several detours, and on the way home, he did the same. If anyone asked, he had been canvassing the city streets, looking at the usual fences. (In fact there were several fences that were quite usual. Some were grey chain link; others were high wrought iron. There was even a white picket attached to a house that seemed to be pretending it wasn't located in urban New York).

Neal was just starting on a block full of ritzy bars, when his phone went off. He glanced at the caller ID. He wasn't ready to talk to Peter yet, so he let it go to voicemail.

Neal needed to decide what to do with Peter. He could legitimately look him in the eye and tell him that he hadn't done it. He could not account for how his painting had ended up at the scene. Besides the painting (which he was assuming one of his friends had taken in order to have something to replace the stolen items with), there shouldn't be anything to link him to the crime. Peter didn't have a case against him. Of course technically, Peter didn't need a case. He didn't even need a suspicion to put him away for the next two years or so. All Peter had to say was that working with Caffrey had become difficult, and he would be returning to orange suits and a room the size of his closet at June's. It had been a while since Neal had seriously worried about that, especially as he hadn't ended up behind bars after the Fowler incident. But Peter's reaction at the dock, made Neal unsure. Speaking of Peter…

A chirp from his phone alerted him to a voicemail. "I need you in the office. Be here by 6:30," Peter's voice pronounced. The tone was even, and Neal wasn't quite sure what it meant except that the team must be pulling overtime right now. There was no apology in Peter's voice, but was he heading in for an interrogation? or an interview? Well, it was 5:50 right now, and it would take him at least 25 minutes to walk the distance to the FBI building. As he wasn't exactly planning on running, he better get moving. Showing up late probably wouldn't help anything. He sighed.

* * *

Peter looked at his watch, 6:20. So far, forensics hadn't had time to come up with anything that helped the case. The initial report stated that they had what appeared to be a "TNT explosion and subsequent inferno that destroyed the contents of a large trailer. The contents appeared to have included wood, canvas cloth, and pieces of iron and other metals." Hopefully forensics would turn up more, but for now, he had no new information, nothing that supported or disproved Neal's claim to innocence. None of Adler's men had been induced to talking yet either.

6:25 Neal pushed open the glass door, and Peter Burke put on his FBI face. Part of him wanted to yell at Neal and throw him back into Supermax. Part of him wanted to move back into partner mode, asking him where someone would take a cache of this size and pushing him to check all the local fences. But if Neal was guilty, then any information he gave would only be misleading, encouraging them to look up promising, but false, leads. Neal was a suspect, not the only one, but still a suspect, and that's where Peter was going to start from.

Neal walked in with purpose, but his usual smile was gone. Neither casual friendship or charming opponent fit the current situation. "I believe you wanted to speak to me," Neal addressed Peter, his voice polite, but certain edge cut through the undertones. The entire office watched with furtive intensity. This wasn't the first time that Neal had been accused of something, and certainly not the first time Peter had been mad at him. Last year, they had seen Caffrey led out in cuffs. Then, however, Peter has still protected Neal, tucking his coat over the cuffs, and the charges were later proved false. (Not of course before Caffrey jumped out of a window and therefore legal custody.)This time, the level of personal involvement had changed, and it was obvious that both of them were pissed.

Peter indicated a door that led to a smaller, less visible room off to the side of the office. Jones and Diana made a few hesitant steps, but then decided against following.

* * *

The table in the room was fairly standard, conference room equipment, but the two chairs opposite each other, one on either length of the table, distinctly reminded Neal of an interrogation room. Peter sat down, but Neal held back for moment looking at Peter, trying to get some idea of where this was going to go. Peter growled out a, "sit," and Neal finally took a seat, leaning back ever so slightly.

"Where were you between 9 pm yesterday evening and 7am this morning?"

"Wow, standard interrogation question #1, you're definitely going by the book," snorted Neal.

"Answer the question," a stony-faced Peter replied.

"After leaving YOUR house," Neal stressed, "I walked home. I stopped by the Duane Reade convenience store on the way to buy a new bottle of aspirin."

"And?"

"And nothing. That's it. I went home, went to bed, end of story," Neal ended irritated.

"Then how did your painting end up at the scene of a major heist." Peter demanded.

"Heist? All I saw was a docking house full of artistic masterpieces go up in flames," contradicted Neal. "I'm not sure what you are talking about," he ended in a deadpan.

"Fine, where were your friends Alex and Mozzie last night?" Peter countered.

"I don't know," Neal replied coolly. "I don't generally track my friend's every movement."

"Well, it sure seems like a lot happens when I stop keeping track of my friend," Peter snapped back, his detached FBI demeanor broken.

"I'm not sure that that kind of tracking qualifies as friendship." Neal's voice had gone from cool to icy. "I've answered your questions. If you have any more, you'll know where to find me," Neal sneered. He stood up, smoothed out his pants and walked out of the room.

He had been planning on talking with Peter, assuring him of his innocence, and then pointing out some facts that would get Peter working in the wrong direction. It shouldn't have been a problem, convincing people was Neal's area of expertise, but Peter's attitude, had triggered Neal's hurt and anger. It wasn't just that he had pulled out his professional FBI face; that was expected. In fact, it was somewhat natural; Peter Burke was an agent of the law, and would not shirk his duties if he had clues pointed to Neal. But the censure in Peter's eyes broke Neal's heart, and if Peter wasn't going to give Neal the benefit of the doubt, Neal wasn't going to beg.

* * *

Peter opened the door to his house and set down his briefcase. "Honey, is that you," El swept down the stairs in blue silk pajamas.

Peter swept her into a hug, holding her to his body for several seconds. After his day, just wanted to say there, holding his wife forever, not trying to be the hero, judge, jury, and executioner for all of New York. "Hun." It was simple, perhaps even corny, but it showed his love in their own way.

"Mmmhh, hun," El murmured back. After a moment of swaying there, she turned and prodded him towards the dining room. "Food is on the table. You need to eat."

Peter leaned over and gave her a kiss. "You're the best." And really, she was. He was usually thought of as the strong one, but really, El was strong. She was that stable base that he knew would always be there when rest of New York seemed to be coming unglued.

El sipped at a cup of hot cocoa as Peter ate dinner. As he finished, she leaned in, took Peter's hand and said, "You told me over the phone that something had happened. Explain."

Peter explained what had happened at the docks. How he has walked in on Adler about to shoot Neal. How he had shot Adler. At this point El shuddered and looked over her husband once more. It wasn't the first time Peter had had to use his gun, but he never liked it, always tried to talk to suspects if he could. That on top of yesterday's kidnapping and murder attempt, no wonder Peter had come home shaken. But as El leaned in to rub his arm and express this, he shook his head.

"No El, it's not even that. I don't like shooting, but I know what Adler's done, what he was about to do. No, it's Neal."

"Neal? Was he hurt? Is he ok?" El couldn't stand the thought of the young, romantic man lying in a hospital bed.

"It's not that," Peter replied, shaking his head. "He might have conned me, big time." And he went on to explain about the scrap from the Chrysler painting that had landed at his feet.

After hearing all the theories he, Jones, and Diana had discussed, El responded, "Wow, that is pretty serious." Peter nodded as El continued, "Well, listen to me. I don't know if Neal did it. I'd like to think that he didn't, but I know I haven't seen every side of him. But I do think you should talk to him." She shushed Peter's protest. "You'll have to in order to get to the truth. But hey, know what I do know?" She leaned in closer, "I know that my husband is the best FBI agent there is, and he'll always figure it out."

* * *

It was 7:30am when Neal heard what he was pretty sure was Peter's knock on the door; his knock had always sounded very official. _He had so been hoping to get ahold of Mozzie or Alex, not have Peter Burke show up at his door on a Saturday. _ He set down his French Roast and walked from the patio to the apartment door. As he suspected, Peter was standing there, suit and all. "Hello Peter. Here with more questions, or should I be asking about a search warrant." Despite the words, the coldness from the earlier exchange had left Neal. Instead, he was leaning towards defeated and tired. He didn't want to fight with Peter, and at this point, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

"No, no search warrant, and this isn't well, completely, official." Peter replied.

"Not _completely_ official?" Neal raised an eyebrow, and Peter stepped in.

"If you didn't take it, and I'm not saying whether or not you did, why would a piece of your painting be at the scene?" He hadn't brought a bottle of wine (corkscrew or pop-top), but his tone was more conciliatory.

Neal gave him an appraising look, and then offered Peter a seat on the short end of the dining room table. Outwardly Neal was calm, but his mind was racing. Peter was asking direction, not demanding that he explain himself. He was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The trouble was, even though the true answer wouldn't implicate Neal, it would implicate his friends. As much as he wanted Peter to trust him, he wasn't going to voice his true suspicions. Perhaps he would try for a related answer.

Neal lay his hands flat on the table, "After I got back from your place Thursday, I was pretty exhausted. The whole being kidnapped, drugged, and shot at kind of wore me out."

Peter's pursed lips indicated that a pity story wasn't going to cut it. However, his mind was spinning back to memories of last night. _Watching El and Sarah, discussing relationships, discussing life. Was that really less than 48 hours ago?_

Neal continued with a shrug, "I probably should have noticed, but Mozzie's U-boat vessel chart was on top of the easel. I didn't even notice that the painting had gone missing. I basically went straight to sleep."

Peter raised his eyebrows. Neal resumed speaking, "I did a basic check-over last night. June was out, and Maddie hadn't noticed anything unusual." _Well, Mozzie coming by didn't count as unusual right? _"The lock up here wasn't broken, but it's not a difficult one to just pick. Even you'd probably manage it just fine after taking Mozzie's lessons. Nothing else in the apartment is missing, but the storage room was emptied as well."

"Which means that whoever it was must know about your paintings," said Peter determinedly, but Neal noticed that, whether he meant to or not, Peter was addressing the situation as if the paintings had been stolen from Neal's, not moved by Neal himself. "Neal, that leaves me with Mozzie or Alex, unless you want to tell me that Sarah or June was behind this.

"Neither of them has told me of any plans to pull the heist. You have nothing solid on either of them."

"Nothing solid Neal, you think I can't figure out something solid to pull up on Alexandra Hunter?" Peter's voice had grown harder again.

The corded muscles in Neal's arm tightened as he clenched his fist, but before replying he closed his eyes. _He didn't want to go back to angry, distrustful Peter. _"Peter,"He turned to his FBI partner and looked him in the eye. "I didn't move the U-boat treasure, nor has anyone else told me that they did. Seriously."

Neal felt a twinge of guilt with that last line, and the key in his pocket started to burn. At this point he was extremely grateful that he hadn't met up with Moz or Alex yet. He didn't have to lie. But he was misleading Peter, playing the role of con while also trying to re-establish his relationship with Peter.

* * *

Whew. That was harder than I expected. The plot is starting to come together in my head, but it still has a lot of holes, so I can't promise that I'll be fast at updating Sorry.

But please don't be mad at me by withholding reviews! I felt very honored to have gotten the ones I did. Thank you for the advice, including several of you who filled me in on how to add lines. Please tell me what I did right, and what I could continue to work on.


	3. Legalities and Bananas

Prove It: Chapter 3 (Weekend)

_The last chapter ended with Peter and Neal talking over at June's place. The tension was beginning to diffuse. _

Peter stood up and mentally cringed. He hated what was he was about to do, but there was no way around it. "Neal, if you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt, there's something I have to do."

Neal tensed. It didn't sound like he was going to arrest him, but what could he mean? Was there going to be some new rule? Extra monitoring of his movements?

"And that would be?" Neal probed tersely

"I know that I said I didn't bring a search warrant," Neal's brows went up at hearing Peter's words. "But I'm going to need to search the apartment and storage unit."

"And if I say no?" Neal asked, standing to his feet.

"If you say no, then you aren't coming back to the office on Monday, and I think we know where that leads" Peter said, his voice growing harder again. "Anyways, I don't actually need the warrant."

Neal's eyebrows knit themselves together in consternation. "Excuse me," he blinked in disbelief.

"I haven't used it up until this point, but I actually have the right legal right to search your place at any point." Neal continued to stare and Peter continued, "Case law states that warden's rights apply to every inmate regardless of their housing and living situation. You aren't a parole case Neal. It means…"

"I know what it means," replied Neal tersely. It meant that Peter could invoke a shakedown, a cell search, at any time; that he was still a prisoner who couldn't be trusted. His housing had changed but apparently nothing else.

"The small key opens the cupboards; the copper one goes to the storage shed," Neal brusquely tossing a key ring to Peter. "Anything else, or may I have your _permission_ to leave?"

Peter nodded once, "Go," and Neal stalked out, the door slamming unnecessarily loudly. Peter was actually glad Neal didn't want to stick around. He would feel less awkward searching his friend's apartment without Neal staring shooting irate glances his way. He sighed and looked around. The room was elegantly decorated, and held no immediate clues to the whereabouts of a Nazi treasure. A quick search would be enough to find anything of that such size. Clues and hints would be harder to find, though Peter already knew some of Neal's hiding places - the panel behind which he had slid the Sterling and Bosch tape of Kate and the hole in the wall that at one point had contained a key that opened a storage unit from which the team had got the money to "pay" for Diana's "hotel services."

* * *

When Neal had stalked out, he didn't have a destination. He just had to get out. His thoughts whirred back to his time in prison, something he usually tried to avoid. Shakedowns could happen at anytime. Neal remembered lying on his cot reading, and a guard would announce he needed to exit and stand by. Or another time, he came back from the yard to find all of his meager possession had been pawed through and rearranged. Anything considered remotely dangerous was removed, and even the smallest infraction resulted in some draconian punishment. (I mean really, who cared if he had lead based paint. He wasn't using it to get high but to paint).

After pounding the streets for a bit, Neal's stomach started growling. He had set down his French toast when Peter showed up; perhaps now would be a good time to have brunch with Mozzie. He needed to talk to him anyway.

They met at the Ciao Bella Gellato at the lowest level of the dining concourse in Grand Central Station. The place was best known as a bright little shop that served the most amazing Gellato. However, their crepes were magnificent as well and Neal ordered a ham, egg, and cheese one, while Moz ordered banana pancakes.

"Mmmmh, 'What a horror it is for a whole nation to be developing without the sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast'," Mozzie proclaimed.

"Hmmm, I can't place that one. Mexican artist, Diego Rivera?" Neal mused.

"Nope, Edith Wharton, American Novelist. Though Diego had a great one about art, "'Every good composition is above all a work of abstraction. All good painters know this. But the painter cannot dispense with subjects altogether without his work suffering impoverishment.' Ahh, the beautiful blurring of reality, and one's view of life," Mozzie ruminated.

"'How about, 'Intellectual property has the shelf life of a banana,'" Neal returned.

"Bill Gates, gotta respect that man, and _that_ is also why I avoid stealing intellectual property. The value is gone in so little time, and to make a profit, you have to give yourself out to the public," Mozzie shuddered at this last line and dug his fork into his pancake.

Neal smiled at his friend's secretive ways, but then his mouth dropped for a second. "Speaking of property, blurred lines, and art," he started, "I received a valuable note yesterday."

"Ah, yes, the ever elusive and valuable note," Mozzie nodded sagely, and then broke into a grin. "So, what do you think!"

"Heavenly, I was in the fields of Elysium."

Despite his friend's references to the Greek Paradise, Mozzie wondered that his friend wasn't telling the whole truth. He was smiling too hard and not blinking enough, something only a fellow con would notice.

"What's wrong?" Mozzie asked, "Alex and I got it away clean, there's no way it can be traced."

"When the container exploded, the pieces didn't all burn. A piece of my Chrysler building got caught up by the wind, and Peter found it," Neal recounted wrapping his hands around the espresso he had ordered.

"Oh, no. That's bad, real bad. But wait, can't the Suit check your tracker? You weren't anywhere near the docks," Mozzie said trying to calm himself, his banana pancakes momentarily forgotten.

"No, it was off for the case. But I _was_ at Peter's house for dinner that night, and he's searching my house right now."

"Did you have time to move the stuff," Mozzie worried.

"Yeah, the note and key are in my wallet, and I had moved my fake IDs from the drawer by the fireplace, and some other documents to secret panel in the floor that I doubt even Peter will find. It's not the first time I've been prepared to beat a search. I just wish that Peter…" Neal didn't get to around to saying what he wished, because at that moment, Alex Hunter sauntered in.

It would have been awkward enough expressing his mixed feeling of guilt and betrayal regarding Peter to Mozzie, there was no way he was letting Alex see him "going soft." He quickly slipped back into his confident and cool self. He smiled at Alex, stood up, pulled a chair over for her, and pronounced, "Well, if isn't the cat that ate the canary," as he pushed in the chair.

They sat around talking, being careful that no one was close enough to listen in. Neal explained the situation to her but strayed away from bringing up his worries. Soon they drawn into a grand debate about a few of the pieces. Neal was sure that there had been a Monet in a box, but Alex, who had spent more time with the treasure was convinced that it wasn't. At one point, Mozzie tried to convince the other two that a handwritten book they had encountered was a Russian diary that would lead not only to the discovery of the true Anastasia, but also to the soul of Rasputin, which had been trapped for some 95 years now. "Trust me, you hang around with enough Russian "surplus" "suppliers," and you know about these things," Mozzie intoned.

Finally, Mozzie looked at his cell and declared that he had to get over to a Save the Orca rally. Alex and Neal decided to walk back to June's place.

* * *

As they walked, Alex took another look at Neal. _So, she had declared him an elusive fantasy just like the treasure, but she had the treasure didn't she_? _So what if Sarah hung around for a bit. There was no way it would last. After the initial thrill of dating the "bad boy," Sarah would realize that Neal was a criminal, and she caught criminals for a living. It would never last. And in the mean time, Alex didn't mind sharing. Part of the con game meant not even trying to trust your partner. Neal might not always believe that, but it had saved her life more than once. Sure it wasn't always her favorite, but Alex had toughened up long ago._

"So, I was thinking we should have a celebratory dinner," Alex began. "You could come over to my place; maybe we could go swimming afterward.' She looked at him with a gleam in her eye, as she thought back to the day they had to steal the music box from the Italian embassy. Clothing of any kind had been conspicuously absent. They were in the entryway to Neal's apartment.

Neal shook his head,"I'd better not be at your place; Peter's sure to be keeping tabs on my anklet, and it probably won't look good for me to show up at your place."

Alex was tempted to pursue the subject, but Neal's eyes were unusually clouded. She couldn't tell if his worry actually stemmed from concern over his movements being tracked, the offer she had made, or something else. But for the moment she decided to let it drop.

"Alright, well, I'll see you around." She brushed her fingers along his shoulder, turned, and left.

Neal sighed, turned to grab a wine glass from the rack, and heard a knock at the door. Had Alex forgotten to tell him something? He pushed open the door to be greeted, not by Alex, but by a red-head in a dark green blouse and black slacks. Sarah had come to claim that lunch date.

* * *

_Well that was more difficult than I expected. I'm sorry I'm such a slow poster._

_The idea for Peter searching Neal's place has been in my head for a while. Based on his legal situation, it seems almost natural that Peter would have that right, but I haven't seen it used much in other fics. What do you think? Sarah or Alex? I've basically made my decision, but I'm interested to see what you think._


	4. Soup and Hot Water

Last Chapter: Peter search Neal's apartment. Neal had brunch with Mozzie, and Alex joined in. She walks him home.

* * *

_Neal sighed, turned to grab a wine glass from the rack, and heard a knock at the door. Had Alex forgotten to tell him something? He pushed open the door to be greeted, not by Alex, but by a red-head in a dark green blouse and black slacks._ _Sarah had come to claim that lunch date. _

"Sarah! To what do I owe the honor," Neal exclaimed.

"Do I need an excuse to come over?" Sarah teased, and leaned in for a kiss

Neal could smell a hint of pomegranate as he leaned in, and then her lip was between his. He held her there hard for a second, and then slowly pulled back

Sarah pulled back and shook her head slightly. Wow_, that man knew how to send a girl spinning_. "Hmm, well I was thinking lunch, but that tasted pretty good too."

With one arm around her, Neal led her to the table, and Sarah took a seat. "Well, that could be arranged," he said with his characteristic smile, "But if you want something more substantial to eat, I have a refrigerator and cupboards full of food." He swept his arm to indicate the oak cupboards on the kitchen wall.

"Well, I don't know that I ever got that soup I've heard so much about," Sarah replied.

"Well then, Chef Neal is at your service." Neal proclaimed with a flourish of his hand and an exaggerated bow. He then turned around and started pulling spices from a near-by cupboard.

Sarah turned in her seat, rested her arm on the back of the chair, and asked with a raised eyebrow, "Was that Alex I saw I came up?"

"She was just checking in on how the case was going," Neal replied.

Sarah pursed her lips but didn't say anything. She couldn't expect Alex to disappear when the FBI was working on a case that involved her grandfather and a huge treasure. She was going to take Elizabeth's advice and trust Neal.

"So, how is the case going?" Sarah queried, "Did you find the warehouse yesterday? I haven't heard anything from you or Peter."

Neal hesitated for just a moment over the celery he was chopping. "It well…could have gone better."

"Could have gone better?" Sarah repeated. She was a woman who didn't just let things slide.

Neal described how they had gone out that morning and he had heard the clanging. He then explained his encounter with Adler, how the building had exploded, and how Peter had shot and killed Adler.

"Oh wow, how is Peter handling that? He always avoids shooting if he can," Sarah gulped. "And you're OK, right?" she said, looking him up and down.

"Yeah, nothing here, at least not physically," Neal responded.

"Well I guess that explains the 'it could have gone better.' And the treasure? Is it all gone?" Sarah pushed.

Neal hesitated. _He could stop his story here. He didn't have to tell Sarah about the Chrysler painting did he? Would she believe him? She was already having a hard time accepting this relationship. The topic certainly didn't seem likely to help out. _The soup pot started to boil over, and he jumped to pull of the lid.

_But on the other hand, chances were she'd find out eventually. She probably take it a lot worse if she found out that he hadn't told her. This way he could at least spin it his way for damage control. "Spin it," apparently he was back to his old habits. _He ladled up two bowls full.

Sarah could sense his hesitation. So what if they were kind of together. She was an investigator, and something was clearly awry.

"Neal," she pushed, her voice sharper than she meant. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Well," Neal said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "There is evidence that the treasure wasn't in the docking building."

Questions poured from Sarah's mouth, "Not in there? Do you guys think Adler moved it? Why would he threaten you then? Did forensics find something off in the remains?"

Neal ran his fingers through his hair. "There was something a little more off than that."

"Like?" Sarah pressed.

"You know that painting of the Chrysler Building I did?" Sarah gave a small nod, a guarded look in her eyes. "Well, it kind of showed up at the scene," Sarah's guarded look turned to one of suspicion (distrust) "or at least pieces of it did," Neal eyed Sarah warily, not sure how she'd react.

"Your painting was found in the wreckage of the explosion? And how exactly did that happen?" she probed, her voice strained.

"Sarah," he pleaded and reached for her hands. "I did not steal the treasure." He looked her straight in the eye and emphasized every word.

Sarah closed her eyes to block out his blue ones. _She wanted to believe him. She did. But this was the man who had stolen the Rembrandt. And she knew that working for the FBI hadn't stopped him from lying. He had lied to her point blank about the stolen tape, even managed to fool her lie detector. Even his work for the FBI involved lies! She mentally skipped back to his story about being the son of the yacht club owner. Sure she had gone along with it, but the point was that she knew what a smooth liar he was. Shoot, he was probably even lying about why Alex had been here._ She opened her eyes and looked at Neal. "I can't do this, Neal. I can't." Sarah pushed the chair out and stood up.

"Sarah, please, believe me." Neal entreated.

"I need time to think," she asserted with a shake of her head and walked out the door.

Neal leaned forward, his mouth twisted in misery. It was too late; she was gone.

He spent the rest of the afternoon listless, doing nothing but straightening up the odds and ends that were out of place after Peter's search. This treasure seemed to have placed a curse on his life.

* * *

Sunday Morning

It was about 11:00 am when Neal heard a soft knocking at his door. June, just back from church and gorgeous in a gray skirt and pink cardigan stepped in. "Neal, dear, it seems we are all alone this Sunday afternoon, and I was wondering whether you wouldn't like to join me for lunch," she said clasping her hands.

Neal put on a smile. "Why it would be my pleasure and honor to dine with such a lovely woman as yourself. May I assist with any of the preparations?"

"Oh no, no," she waved him off. "It's nothing difficult or fancy. Just come down in about 45 minutes."

Exactly 45 minutes later, Neal walked down the stairs, running his fingers along the banister. He found the table loaded with a dish of stuffed tomatoes, chicken breast with a caper cream sauce, and strawberry parfaits.

"June," Neal caught her hand and looked her in the eye. "You may be the most amazing woman I know."

"Well, you'd better not let all those other beautiful women hear you say that," she demurred as he pulled out her chair. "Speaking of which, I noticed _both_ Alex and Sarah came by yesterday." She raised an eyebrow as she smoothed her napkin on her lap.

Neal ran his fingers through his hair, "Yes, yes. I…."

June held up her hand, "You don't have to explain anything to me you don't want to. They are both gorgeous, intelligent, and fiery women. They'd both challenge you and keep you on your toes."

Neal smiled and inwardly shook his head at the word _challenge_. Yes, he certainly was facing a challenge, but he responded to the question June had intended. "They would. I mean, Sarah is so amazing. She's like sunlight, always moving, full of life and passion. But Alex is like moonlight. Darker, but dominant among all the other lights in the night sky."

He paused for a moment, "But sunshine wants to reveal all, relentlessly uncover the dark corners in a person's life. Sarah knows who I am, but I'm not sure that she's up for seeing all of me. For all I know, she'd still turn me in for the Rembrandt. She doesn't see it the way you do." Neal said his eyes flicking to June's warm face.

"So you fear who you will be revealed in Sarah's sunlight, but what about the moon. How do you feel about the moon?" June wondered out loud.

"The moon is beautiful and open to the opportunities dark brings. But it is also less consistent. Its path is unstable, and it waxes and wanes. Alex would never want to settle down. Half the time I'm not even sure what country she is in. She doesn't give her heart away or even open up most of the time."

"Well, not everyone is ready to give themselves away," June replied,"Some people build walls of steel around their hearts so that even the best thief can't crack the safe."

Neal thought back to the way he had felt losing Kate and compared it to when Alex had left the first time. With Kate, he had felt agony for months. With Alex, they had had fun and then left. What was Mozzie's word? Convenient. They could pull a heist together, make-out wildly afterward, and then move on the next day to someone else. Perhaps in his line of work, it was safer that way.

"Did I ever tell you? The first night I spent with Alex, we made out passionately, and then that morning both she and the cash from my wallet were gone," Neal remembered with a short laugh.

"Oh, the crazy games we put ourselves through," June laughed. She took a look at Neal and placed her arm on his shoulder, "Dear, I think the question may not be about who these women are. Both of them full and established persons. The real question is, _who do you want to become_?"

The amazing thing was Neal knew that June would accept him no matter which decision he made.

"I don't want to be like Ford, choosing the heist over friends. But I don't know if I can handle the straight and narrow. Keller accused me of acting like a law man the other day. I hated it. I mean I respect Diana, Jones, and Peter, and someday I'd like a family, but I can never just be a 9-5 worker with a soccer wife. That would kill me," strained Neal shaking his head.

"You know I loved Byron, and the con, the heist, the thrill; that was all part of him. I don't think I would have loved him the same if none of that was in him," June counseled.

"But you two managed to get out, to live life." Neal's voice grew stronger.

"Yes, yes, we did. But Neal, it's not like we left it all behind. Trust me, we still had our share of thrills, and perhaps not all of them were entirely legal. Mmhh, for our 25th anniversary, he swiped the security card from a guard at the empire state building. That night we snuck in and had midnight champagne while sitting perched on top, the entire city spread beneath our feet."

Neal pictured a younger June sitting lady-like atop the concrete edging of the building and smiled.

"You know, it was a minister friend of ours that helped Byron when he got out on parole. He was always there for him, to talk, to be a loyal friend. He didn't condemn, just loved. He died 2 years ago, but I think I have a picture of him in the photo album." June pushed her chair back, set her napkin on the table, and walked over to the parlor table. She picked up the leather-bound book and flipped through the last few pages. These ones were had the muted look of an early color picture. "Here we go. Elazer was the biggest support during those rocky first few months."

Neal saw who he knew to be Byron, in his upper 40s, with his arm over a man with the biggest smile. Even in an unmoving picture, Neal figured it was one of the most genuine smiles he had ever seen, more genuine than a good many of his own.

"One thing he was always telling Byron, 'You can't serve two masters,'" June reminisced.

"You'll love one and hate the other," Neal completed.

"Well he was right. I don't mean you need to stop being who you are, but some day you'll have to make some choices about who you are. Who you want to be."

"But June, I can't choose between friends. I can't turn my back on Mozzie or Alex, but I don't want to hurt Sarah, and Peter, Jones, and Diana either," Neal agonized, twisting his napkin in his lap.

June held up a hand, "You misunderstand me. I don't think the choice is between one set of friends and another, and yes, I know they are all friends," June said with a knowing smile. "The choice is between which path _you_ want to pursue. Mozzie and Alex are smart. They will understand if you want out. I mean look at me. Byron and I decided to go straight 15 years ago. I'm model citizen, a member of the Purple Hat Society, and a trustee on the Smiles for Children board. However, I'm pretty sure I could accused of having a soft spot for conmen." She winked at Neal.

"Hey, well I figure I've got about two years before I have to choose," he said rising to his feet.

"And its not a choice you have to make all at once. The best wines take years to mature; your experiences will shape whomever you become," June replied. "But whatever you choose, know that I believe in you."

* * *

Neal sat on his bed thinking. He did enjoy some of the cases he'd worked on. Sure mortgage fraud was dead boring, but conning had its own low spots. The stings allowed him to use his skills and his knowledge. He still got that old thrill of pulling off a job. And the present situation aside, he'd actually had less conflicts of interest than he'd expected. Sure he had went behind Peter's back to warn Alex against her silver heists, but he didn't feel like a turncoat for stopping a man from running an adoption scam, for protecting a man who had been framed for art theft, or for turning in violent men like Keller and Ganz. His mind spun back to the day when Ganz had stuck the gun in the drivers face and then held up a picture of his daughter to get the man to back down, all for money. People like him did belong in jail. Perhaps Neal could choose people, and his form of justice, without choosing legality.

* * *

_I had a harder time writing Sarah than June. Did the characters come out accurately?_ Thank you for reviews and writing tips. They really help.

*Elazer means help of God


	5. Mortgage Fraud

**This chapter is dedicated to Duffy1 and anyone else who was saddened that the last chapter 5 was a false alarm. Thank you for caring about my story**

Last chapter: Sarah had come by for lunch but walked out when she found out about Neal's painting. June and Neal talked about loyalty and life.

* * *

Peter had called Neal and informed him that the search of his apartment had turn up nothing. He was still on the suspect list, but unless further evidence came up, he was cleared to come back to the office. "Neal, if you know anything about where the treasure is, or who might be behind it," Peter urged, "tell us. I've even talked with Hughes, and we could offer immunity if someone turns themselves in or we could work out a parole-only deal if you turn them in."

"Complete immunity?" Neal was surprised.

"The government really wants this treasure recovered. It could well be the greatest historical discovery of the century. Anyway, whoever took it is going to be real hard pressed to fence that much." Peter's voice grew even more serious, "Neal, we will find whoever it is." His voice was absolute on this fact. "The easier this goes, the better it will go for them." The warning, as well as the invitation, was clear.

* * *

When Monday morning rolled around, Neal rolled out of bed dreading the day. Oh sure, he could probably pull off nonchalant on the outside, but he was not looking forward to the stares at the office, probably ranging from doubt, to disappointment, to smug delight at seeing Neal in the dog house.

He pulled out a suit and went to select a shirt. _White for innocence? Blue for calmness? Yes, blue would do it._ He pulled off his the white tee he had slept in, and donned the cool Egyptian cotton top. He chose a dark tie that matched well. He didn't really feel like standing out today; all eyes would probably be on him anyway.

* * *

Neal stepped into the foyer of the FBI building and put on a collected and cool façade. He needed to act somewhat normal. There was one other person in the elevator as he entered, a young clerk he had seen around but never actually met. The clerk exited at the 15th floor.

When Neal stepped off at the 20th floor, his muscles tightened involuntarily. He felt like a clown fish entering a sea anemone after losing half its mucus coating. He was no longer sure if his symbiotic relationship with the FBI was safe.

As Neal stepped in, the office conversations died, but a fire of whispers broke out at the farther corners. The last time he had been here, he had stalked out of an interrogation in anger. _Confidence, Neal _repeated to himself_. You have no reason to feel guilty. You ARE innocent._ He hitched up his smile and strolled in, nodding at the agent nearest the door. He saw Hughes stepping out of his office and pulling out the infamous two fingered summons. "Up here, Caffrey."

Neal strolled up the stairs, well aware that every eye in the office was on him.

Hughes closed the door behind Neal; Peter was already standing by the desk. Hughes got directly to the point. "As you know, you are still a suspect in the U-boat case, which means that you can't be in the thick of the search. You give us any information you have and answer any question we have. Otherwise, you'll be assigned to different cases. Any questions?"

Neal shrugged. He was tempted to ask that Hughes start a task force dedicated to buying Peter a new suit but figured this wasn't the time.

"Alright, well I have a meeting of department heads; keep me in the loop if anything comes up," Hughes instructed Peter and left the room.

Peter turned towards Neal and looked at him awkwardly for a moment. "I…I, "He started to say something then seemed to decide against it, "let's get this situation cleared up fast." Peter handed Neal a stack of case files and walked away.

Well, Peter wasn't staring at him in loathing anymore, but it didn't look like their old partnership was quite back on yet. Part of Neal really did wish that this case was a normal one where they could catch the bad guy, celebrate a victory together, and be back at ease. But there was no way he could turn in Mozzie or Alex, and he was pretty sure they weren't going to turn themselves in, even for complete immunity, which meant that it could be a while before his and Peter's relationship was really OK.

Neal started flipping through case files. Mortgage fraud, mortgage fraud, copyright infringement of corporate employee handbooks… _wow, that was even worse than mortgage fraud_. The next one was an internet "Work from Home" scheme that was just a notch above mortgage fraud. Neal decided to take a crack at it. An hour and a half later, he had put together enough to make a solid court case and filed the final report. He stood up, stretched, and meandered over to the break room to grab some coffee.

As he was walking, he overheard one of the Harvard bunch announced to the woman sitting next to him, "Hey, did you hear. If we recover the U-boat treasure, the government will give 50% of the proceeds to help the victims most hurt by Adler's Ponzi scheme."

_Great, let's add on another layer of guilt,_ Neal thought to himself. When he walked into the break room, he found Jones filling up his mug. "Hey, how was your weekend?" Neal inquired.

"Mhh, fairly relaxed. My old college roommate came over Saturday night as well as my sister and her fiancé. We played a couple of intense games of LIFE."

"LIFE? Like the board game where you stick little pegs in plastic cars and move around the board," Neal asked a bit incredulously.

"Yes sir. My sister loved that game as kids. We had a rule that you had to actually pretend that it was all real, that the little spaces you landed on represented your actual life. Its great seeing her pretend to shoot a rock video," Clinton grinned. "Her fiancé thought we were pretty crazy at first, but he got into it after a bit. Which is a good thing. He'll need that kind of humor to survive our crazy family at Christmas."

Neal smiled for real. It was good to know that not everyone's life revolved around treasures, secrets, and hiding. "And which career did you end up with?" Neal asked.

"Travel agent," Jones replied. "I got to fly anywhere in the world for free."

"Sound like a life to me," Neal declared.

"Mhh, I would like see some of the world someday, but in reality I'm pretty set right here. My family isn't too far away, and in some ways, this office sometimes feels like an extended family. I'm around them more than most blood relatives." Jones replied thoughtfully.

"Hmm, well what do you do when the priorities of one family set clashes with the other?" Neal inserted as nonchalantly as possible.

"Well, I try to balance them as best as possible. If my mother is sick in bed, she gets priority over work. On the other hand, if my crazy aunt Eleanor starts calling," Jones rolled his eyes, "I don't feel so bad turning off my cell. Past that, it's not necessarily a question of who I'm most loyal to, but who is most in the right." Jones glanced up at the clock. "Hey, I've got to go. Life is calling me." He lifted his mug in salutations and left.

* * *

Coffee in hand, Neal also headed back to his desk and started flipping through the files again. Everyone else had been assigned to some aspect of the U-boat case, whether it was profiling local warehouses or trolling shops known to carry fenced goods; Neal was the only one without a real case. He sighed as he reached the last manila file. Nothing to challenge him or to provoke him to action.

A crisp file dropped from the air onto his desk. He glanced up and saw Diana standing over him. "Hey, what's this?" Neal asked curiously.

"I thought maybe you could use something other than mortgage fraud," she indicated the stack. "It's not exactly art theft, but …" she shrugged.

"Thanks," Neal said, "It's different not being in the thick of the hunt."

"Well, perhaps you should stop getting yourself implicated in the crime of the century," Diana teased.

"Yeah well, maybe if the criminal of the century would stop mixing my paintings with their work, it would be a little easier." Neal flashed a half-smile.

Diana turned more serious, "Neal," she began, a hint of uncertainty shook her usual confidence. "You didn't steal them, right." She really hoped he hadn't. It would kill Peter to send Neal back. (Shoot, it would kind of kill her day too).

Neal sat up and looked straight into Diana's eyes. "I did not steal the U-boat treasure."

Diana breathed a sigh, and then squared her shoulders. "Well, that's good enough for me." The sturdy agent was back. "Though, it doesn't mean I won't be checking on your friends."

Neal shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, a man's gotta keep some things sacred."

Diana gave a short laugh and walked away. She was glad that Neal's banter would be around for a while longer.

Neal looked down at the folder Diana had tossed him. It looked too clean to be a cold case. He opened it curiously. Inside, he found the several papers regarding scams designed to look like look like "Japan Aid Funds." The idea was simple. You set up a parody of a real relief organization, then you set links around the internet. When people go to donate to the relief efforts, their money goes into the false fund. Neal had never liked these scams. They took money from those who desperately needed it, and they tended to have no style whatsoever.

He set to work. Perhaps it didn't furnish the same thrill as robbing a bank, but he still felt like he had purpose doing it. (And it was definitely better than mortgage fraud!).

**Reviews Please!**


	6. Unicorns or Uboats

By Thursday, Peter was growing tense, and it could be felt throughout the whole office. Alex had claimed that it would take Adler least to the end of this week to get the goods shipped to Europe. While he wasn't necessarily going to believe Alex Hunter at this point, there was a chance the treasure would be out of the country tomorrow.

However, all leads seemed to have dried up. No one could find anything about the treasure. Even other departments had pitched in to share intelligence, but no agent, no paid informant, no CI had brought in anything useful. They had run across a couple of other stolen items in the process, but nothing that coincided with treasure that might have come from a 1940s Nazi U-boat.

Peter's relationship with Neal still wasn't properly back on track either, and that just added to Peter's irritable mood. He missed having Neal around, but he just couldn't bring himself to be sure. After searching Neal's apartment, he had to admit that he Neal did seem innocent. _But what if that was just his friendship with Neal getting the better of his FBI intuition? Other agents who weren't in the White Collar division had suggested often enough that Peter had become blind to Caffrey's criminal nature._

_And even though he really was beginning to think that Neal couldn't have stolen the paintings, he still got the impression that he was hiding something. Neal certainly hadn't jumped in to find who had stolen the treasure, as well as his own paintings. Sure Hughes had told him to stay out, but since when had Caffrey listened to something like that when he had a vested interest? No, if Caffrey had wanted the thief found, he would have been doing his own research, and that, most of all, was what was keeping Peter from really reconnecting with his con/partner/friend._

Hughes broke Peter's reverie as he turned into Peter's office. "I just got a call from the NYPD; we have a new case."

Peter looked up, "We don't have time for another case! The U-boat treasure could be gone after this weekend. We can't let this go!"

Hughes held up this hand, "Look, I realize this U-boat case is important. Trust me, my superiors have been harassing me constantly, asking for updates, but right now we are fresh out of real leads. All of our major suspects are dead ends right now. Adler is dead, and his men have finally confessed to the other charges. If they are holding out on us, about the treasure, I don't see what we can do. Haversham, or whatever he calls himself, has been a dead-end as has Alexandra Hunter. We still don't even know his real name, and we have absolutely nothing solid on either of them. And Neal is sitting under our noses." Peter tried to interject but was cut short. ""I'm _not_ pulling you from the U-boat case."

Peter tilted his quizzically, "But.."

"However," Hughes continues, "This new case is a big heist, and I'm going to put part of the team on it. It's not like you really need everyone until you have a new lead, and at least we know what we are looking for in the new case."

Peter sighed, "Alright, so what _are_ we looking at?"

"Last night the Metropolitan Museum of Art had one of its more famous pieces stolen from the Cloisters."

Peter knew that the MET's security was top notch. The Cloisters was its own building dedicated to the art and architecture of medieval Europe. The building itself was actually made out of pieces of 12th century castles and garrisons. Between the thick masonry of the ancient and the technologically advanced security of the modern, the place was supposed to be incredibly difficult to rob.

"Wow, I guess that is big," Peter admitted. "What did they take?"

"It's a very famous set of tapestries known as 'The Hunt of the Unicorn.'"

Peter's eyes widened even more. He remembered seeing those back when he was on a grade-school tour. It was a series of 7 tapestries that depicted a unicorn being hunted, being penned, being killed, and being brought back to a castle dead. It was very famous.

"As I said, I'm not pulling everyone off the U-boat case, but right now this is more immediate and more concrete. Let's send Neal and Jones over to the site. Neal can look around, and Jones is more than capable of handling official matters. He'll be our point man for the case. They can have a couple of guys from the Harvard crew assist as needed," Hughes lined face left no room for questioning this time, and Peter didn't really want to question it. He understood the wisdom of the plan, though the lack of progress on the U-boat case still frustrated him.

* * *

Glints of purple and red sparkled around Jones and Neal as they walked through the gothic archways of the Cloisters. The area was beautiful in an overwhelmingly grand way. However, the room they were led into was considerably different, having more the feel of a hunting lodge than a medieval church. Thick wooden beams matched the wooden floor and a solid oak fireplace with intricately carved hunting scenes graced one wall. Only the perfectly white walls stood as a reminder that this was indeed a museum, not a hunter's dining room, and these walls were covered by seven ornate tapestries.

Neal went over to look at the one across from the door on the right. The work was beautiful. And it was a fake. "Yes, your _Unicorn in Captivity_ seems to have broken out of captivity." Jones rolled his eyes.

The head curator who had been showing them around explained, "The electricity to the whole wing, lights _and_ security, went out for 52 seconds at 4 pm yesterday. Security found a blown fuse, and we assumed the construction across the street had blown the power. The before and after tapes showed nothing suspicious either near the power box or any section of the Cloisters. It was half an hour laterwhen Felix Salton, one of our regular visitors, noticed something amiss. Felix is a Medieval scholar, and he could tell that the textile pattern had a mechanical texture, as opposed to a hand woven texture."

"And do you know that it wasn't replaced earlier? That the blackout wasn't just a coincidence?" Neal pondered.

"No, no. We actually just had the room repainted, and each piece was replaced yesterday morning by a team of experts who certified the safety and authenticity of each tapestry. There was also a lot of interest surrounding the re-opening of the room. Dozens of scholars were in and out all day. Someone would have noticed it sooner," the curator explained, his frustration evident.

Neal paced the room. It was 12 feet by 36 with only one door. He went to examine the fireplace. A small person could certainly fit inside it, but it would be difficult. When he asked the curator, he replied that the police had checked the flue. It was never used and had a solid iron cap on which no traces of tampering could be found. There were also security cameras on the roof. They had also been down for the 52 seconds, but no unusual activity had been seen on them before or after the outage.

"A snatch and grab while the lights were off?" Jones prodded.

The curator chimed in, "Security tapes after the event show no one leaving the area, and we've been able to contact every person who was in the vicinity. The regular police couldn't find a thing. That's why we decided to call you guys in."

Jones continued listing off option, and every time, Neal or the curator came up with an objection.

Finally Jones sighed in frustration. "Well how would you have stolen it Neal?"

"If it were me," Neal said with a grin, "I would have walked out with under my arm, never having turned off the security camera in the first place. You'd be surprised how little people pay attention as long as you act like you are supposed to walking off with an $8,000,000 painting. I mean if I were to ever hypothetically try to steal some art."

"So you're telling me that you think whoever it was just walked out with it?" Questioned the curator slightly agitated.

Neal's grin fell, "No, because you are right. The security tape evidence, and your security system don't back that theory up."

"Well great," said the curator throwing up his arms. "Apparently the tapestry just magically transformed itself as it seems no one is capable of stealing it. Not only do we not know who it is or where it might be, we don't even know where to start looking!"

Neal wasn't going to admit it out loud, but _whoever it was, they were good_. _Possibly even better than himself_.

* * *

Stopped at a red light on the way back to the bureau, Jones asked, "So, tell me. You steal something that famous, what do you do with it? Hypothetically of course."

"Well, generally you either sell it or keep it for yourself." Neal replied.

"But what about you? Do you just let some rich collector have it? Let it while away in some private back room?"

"Well as much as I'd love to have my own private collection, it's not so easy to carry a truckload of art when you're moving from one hotel to the next, aiming to stay incognito. Anyways, you still have to pay the bills," Caffrey shrugged.

Jones pulled forward as the light turned green, "So that's it, it's just for the payday? I just can't see the appeal."

"No, no. It's the thrill. The adrenaline of knowing that you just pulled it off; that you bested the most expensive security system, made away with one of the most guarded treasures in the world."

"Now that I can relate to," Clinton said. Neal tilted his head quizzically. "Why do you think I became an FBI agent?"

"Well I'm sure it wasn't for the paperwork," Neal quipped as Clinton turned into the FBI garage.

"Ha, no. It's that feeling when you know that you just returned a priceless heirloom to a family, that you just brought down one of the most elusive thieves out there, and when at the end of the day you know that you put all of your brainpower in and proved yourself smarter. That's why I do my job."

Neal looked at him, "Hmmm, you know, you might not have been a bad con," he said as they got out of the car.

Jones chortled, "Not a chance, but you know, you aren't such a bad agent yourself."

* * *

As always I welcome any ideas on how to improve my writing. I'm not sure I was completely back in the swing of the story as I wrote this chapter.


End file.
